


Whimsalot

by slpy (sqye)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Just a quick thing, Other, Sort of mild, Violence, You are a whimsalot, cloud atlas is playing, hysterical laughing, idk - Freeform, random tags yo, royal guard, sorf of, whelp i hope u like it, your with final froggit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqye/pseuds/slpy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>born from a thought -<br/>"i've always wondered how the core monsters felt, knowing everyone but their little numbers and the few beyond are all that remain. and they are simply filled with despair, knowing this human has killed some of their strongest, and they are all that is remaining before they continue on to slaughter every innocent person they love and care for, had the human not already done so."</p>
<p>fair warning, angst</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whimsalot

Despair makes your body heavy, but you still continue onward. You clutch your spear tighty to your chest as you flutter along, sweat beading on your forehead behind your mask. Your wings flutter behind you, silent as they moved through the heated air. Dust hangs inthe air, light grey and just barely visible. They wink at you in the low light as your wings disturb their floating. You've tried desperately to shake away the dark thoughts that informed you that such a fate was awaiting you and your partner, Final Froggit, in the near future, as it did your friends and comrades.

You know you both are the last. The last defense before they reach Mettaton. Then the castle. Then the King, Asgore. You are weak, whatever reasons that you made it into the Royal Guard allude you well. Or rather, you hide them from yourself. Now, here you are. You are the last at the end of the bridge, ebony darkness on either side of you as you face the silhouette of a merciless killer. The one who has given the monsters of the Underground no mercy.

They have killed your family. You are very aware of this. Word of it was brought from the fleeing people of Snowdin, who explicitly spoke of how much dust caked their clothing as they exited the Ruins. Enough dust for over twenty monsters. You _know_ that there are twenty in the Ruins besides the mistress who called herself the caretaker of the crumbling city the monsters left behind as they built the new Capital. And they have killed your friends, the other Royal Guardsmen, you _watched_ fearfully from the shadows. They had killed so many of Snowdin, of Waterfall. Even _Undyne!_

Your mind floats to the people of the Capital. How the Royal Scientist, Alphys, had witnessed the death of Undyne from her cameras. How she had alerted the Capital and the people soon evacuated, along with those from Snowdin. And how just before fleeing herself, in a tearful anger, gave Mettaton a new form to battle the human. How he waited behind you in a room just beyond where you stand. How people are cowering in fear of this human that has slaughtered _their_ family and friends.

Suddenly, anger fuels an ember of bravery. It ignites quickly, swallowing your fears like dry kindling. Anger encourages your magic, and soon it roars in your ears. Strength boils through you, and you straighten. Your grip on your spear tightens, and you hold it in a ready position. You stare boldly into the darkness that hid the approaching form. Footsteps lightly tap on the metal.

Soon you can fully see them, equipped in a cowboy hat with a loaded pistol at their side. How they found ammo for such a thing is beyond your thinking capability, too focused on what is about to start. Layers upon layers of dust coated their clothing, so much that you could barely see the two magenta stripes on their light blue sweater, or the glint of walnut hair, or even the tan of their skin. You thought such a thing would fuel your anger-induced flames of bravery.

It did not. In fact, as the fight initiated, you felt your fears overwhelm all other feelings. Despair filled you, and you could barely managed to send a circle of magic moths at them. Your grip on your spear tightened out of fear, and you clutched it to your chest like a lifeline. Your soul's usually rhythmic beat stuttered and quickened as you watched your attack do nothing to them. You look to Final Froggit as the human loads the pistol, just barely getting two of the four rounds to their correct places.

Then they shoot, and you watch in horror as the rounds tear through your friend's form. With a final croak, their eyes go dark and they fade to dust. That look of pain and despair on their face makes your soul wrench. The bravery reignites. You know your death is inevitable, but maybe you can help _somewhat_. You want to do something to aid everyone beyond you in defeating the menace that claims to be a human. You straighten, locking gazes with them in a brave move before uttering the words,

"I've made my choice."

You choose to keep going despite your growing despair. You send trios of butterflies rapidly at them, and several nick the crimson soul, bringing down the high HP a few points. You smile weakly behind the slitted mask. You've done what you can, and you pray to stars you have never seen that Mettaton NEO can finish them off. You know what sort of pain comes next.

They load the gun perfectly. Each time the round slid in with little complaint. You can do nothing but wait. So that's what you do. Your wings succumb to the weight despair has added to them, falling to your side limply as you fell to the ground. You're counting the seconds now, waiting. They're taking their time aiming, aren't they? You laugh weakly at this, down on a knee.

The first round rips through your right wing. You whimper, for you will _not_ give them the pleasure of seeing you, an honored Royal Guard, cry. You bright your lip. The second tears your second wing to ragged shreads. The third hits your mask, and it falls away to reveal your pained face. You're in pure agony, and you can't keep your face from showing it.

There's laughter before the fourth and final round is shot. You cast your gaze to the left, to the Final Froggit's dust. The pain is horrible, burning. You can't help yourself, tears slide down your features at the terrible sensation that ripped through your entire being. You shuddered. Yet, even as you stare at the dust of your dearest friend with your murderer laughing away, you think of something Final Froggit said when you both had been known simply as Whimsum and Froggit, before you joined the Royal Guard. It had been several ribbits, but you knew what it meant.

_If we die, we die doing our job. And together, but I mean our job_ is _more important._

You can't help but laugh with the killer. Just not at the same thing, as that was for sure as far as you know. And your laugh is breathy and low, their own high-pitched and hysterical. They're still laughing as the firearm's trigger is pulled, releasing a sound that could be heard from New Home. Your armor saves you little damage, as the round plunges through the metal, through your frail skin, and straight through your soul. It exits your fragile form between your wings, going further to lodge itself in the wall.

They walk past you as your body goes numb. You're still laughing. But it's hysterical. Still breathy, but now you're just laughing at the prospect of death. Of how you know, somewhere deep down, this is not the first time you have died, nor the first time they will keep going and stop just before they. Magbe they will keep going. You dismiss this thought as the thoughts of the dying with a poor, numb mind filled with hysteria.

Your torn wings dissolve into dust first. You just.. Don't feel them anymore. The pain you felt in them is gone, unlike the searing from your crumbling soul. Then your feet fall out beneath you. You gasp between laughs as you plummet to the floor, colliding with the metal of the bridge, but still in breathless laughter. Your body is slowly crumbling. Dissolving. Just before your soul shatters into dust, you allow yourself a final laugh at your last thoughts.

_Yeah. I guess you're right, Froggit. Our job_ is _more important._

**Author's Note:**

> yup  
> how'd you guys like it?  
> just warming up to right some angst  
> also written half-asleep sooo  
> but yeah  
> good angst?? or no  
> its suppose to be a bit mild but i do tend to.. overdo angst  
> oops


End file.
